by Ann Moore
“You’re short two and six,” he barked. “Put it on the table now, missus. Don’t take all day.”
The old woman bowed her head. “God bless you, sir, but I’ve not got it. I’m widowed this year, you see—buried my Mike in the winter and himself being all I’ve got to home.”
“What about the boys?” Ceallachan’s eyes were hard.
“Dead, sir, but for the eldest gone to America and the next sent to Van Diemmien’s Land.”
“Transported? On what charge?” O’Flaherty asked, his voice more gentle than that of the agent.
“Attempted murder, sir.” The old woman turned her pleading eyes on the young man. “He went mad when the guards came for his da, and he near killed the one, God save his soul. The judge give him six years. Put him on the boat to Australia right then.”
“What’s she saying?” O’Flaherty directed the question to Ceallachan.
“The Galligans are a rabble lot, sir. Always fighting their neighbors, always in some kind of trouble, they are.” Ceallachan scowled at the woman. “Her husband sold his cow to Hynes, the shopkeeper, then stole another cow when Hynes butchered the first. Her son flew into a rage and beat the guard who came to arrest his father, smashing the man on the side of the head with a rock and leaving him stupid, and blind in one eye.”
“Begging your pardon, sir,” the old woman interrupted. “Mister Hynes was holding the cow on good faith for her butter and cream till our bill was met. When the month passed and my husband, God rest his soul, went to get her, he found her butchered and the meat sold. We cannot live without the cow, sir—we’d paid our debt. Mister Hynes said to take another, an old one, and he did, my Mike, but then the guards come, and Mike terrible sick in his chest and they took the cow and hit poor Mike with their clubs. Martin, God save him, struck out with his fists at the guard.” She spoke rapidly now. “I pray for the guard and his family. God knows I do … and for our Martin, who suffers in prison on the other side of the world … and for my Mike, who’s gone out of it and left me alone.” She began to weep into her hands.
The agent snorted in disgust. “They can tell a story to break your heart and the next minute laugh at you for the pennies hidden up their sleeves.” He frowned at the widow. “You’ve got chickens and a pig on that ground of yours. Anything else?”
“No, sir,” she said quietly, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.
“Leave the money, bring in the animals.”
“But how will I live?” she begged. “How will I pay next Quarterday?”
The agent shrugged. “That’s not our concern.”
Missus Galligan turned, stunned, then fell down in the corner, pulled her apron over her head, and started to keen, rocking from side to side.
Ceallachan spat in contempt. “Get her out of here,” he said to the group huddled by the door.
Nally motioned to the girls, who went to the widow and helped her up. They spoke gently to her, getting her to the door, but before they left, Aislinn glared boldly at O’Flaherty, who watched the scene with horrified amusement.
Morgan and Nally shared a glance. If there was no pity to be had for a suffering widow, what chance had they? Two other families paid what they owed and then it was their turn.
“Ah, McDonagh.” Ceallachan tapped his pen on the ledger.
Nally put his money on the table. “I’m short, Ceallachan,” he said directly, his eyes not wavering from the agent’s face. “But you know I’m good for it.”
Ceallachan shook his head slowly. “I expected better than that from you, McDonagh,” he said. “You’ve never missed a day.”
“Aye,” Nally narrowed his eyes. “And I’ve often paid ahead when I’ve come back from sea.”
“When do you go?”
Nally nodded. “Today, and I’ll be sending money home before next quarter.”
“And if you don’t?”
“My boy, Morgan, will see you get your due. We’ll have the piglets by then and another calf on the way.”
“Bet the horses today, did you, then, Nally?” The agent smirked.
Nally was still. His eyes flicked to the face of the young Squire, then back to Ceallachan. “I was unlucky, true for you, but ’tis not the cause of our trouble.”
“So you were gambling with money that rightfully belonged to the Squire.” Ceallachan looked over his shoulder. “That’s stealing, wouldn’t you say, sir?”
O’Flaherty was looking at Nally, but his gaze suddenly shifted to the open door as Aislinn and her sisters came back in and joined their father. Aislinn had taken the shawl from her head, and her hair, thick and loose, glistened in the light. She had pushed back her cloak and untied the top string of her blouse so that her fine collarbones and the hollow at the base of her throat showed clearly. Her shoulders were back and her figure was perfectly molded inside her clothes. She met the young gentleman’s gaze with one of her own, direct and unafraid. Her eyes sparked as she moved closer to her father.
O’Flaherty didn’t take his eyes off her face as he spoke. “My father does not approve of credit, as you know,” he said. “And far be it from me to encourage debt in a family that has avoided it all these years.” He paused, looking her slowly up and down before shifting his gaze to Nally. “We have need of a servant for my grandmother, who is ill and bedridden.” He paused again, as if considering. “Your daughter may prove sufficient, and certainly it would be a step up for her to come into service at Cairn Manor.”
Nally said nothing, but Morgan felt him stiffen.
“She can easily work off your debt in two months’ time. After that, the money she earns is her own.” O’Flaherty glanced again at Aislinn, who was now demurely looking down at the tips of her shoes.
Nally struggled to work it out, then looked up, incredulous, as he realized how much money Aislinn stood to make.
“She’ll work especially hard and pay off your debt,” O’Flaherty quickly amended. “After that, if her work is satisfactory, she’ll be paid a fair wage to be determined at that time.” He paused. “Well?”
Nally looked at Morgan, who was shaking his head, then at Aislinn, who turned her yearning eyes full upon him. It took him only a moment to decide.
“’Tis against my way of thinking for a young girl to leave her Christian home and enter service, no disrespect to you, sir.” He ignored the stricken look on his daughter’s face. “But my way of thinking does not always follow that of our Lord’s, and if it be His will to set this path, then I will walk it. Provided, of course, that her brother may call upon her, and that after paying our debt, she may come home to her mother if needed.”
O’Flaherty raised his eyebrows at the impertinence of conditions on his generous offer, but after another glance at Aislinn’s bosom, he accepted.
“Very well,” he said, shrugging his shoulders and forcing a yawn. “See that she arrives first thing in the morning.” He glanced briefly at Morgan, sizing him up, and then again at Aislinn, tipping his head in the slightest of bows, and earning a shy smile in return.
The McDonaghs left the room, followed by a wave of silent disapproval from the others. Tongues would wag tonight, but Aislinn cared not at all; her face glowed, her eyes danced, and she could barely contain the smile that threatened to turn into laughter.
They made their way through the crowd to the edge of the field, where they sat down under a birch tree to eat the bread and cold potatoes Mary had packed in Kate’s wicker basket.
“Mind you watch your step in that house, girl,” Nally growled around a mouthful of potato.
“Aye,” she said meekly, then flung her arms around his neck. “Oh, thank you, Da. Thank you for letting me go to such a fine house!”
He pushed her off, but smiled despite himself. “Ah, well, it worked itself out, didn’t it now, and I’m thankful for that. But don’t I know the sons of gentlemen, and how quickly their manners are forgot?” He frowned again. “He’ll be looking for amusement before he goes off to the army. You’d best keep y
our head on your shoulders and your feet on the floor, or you’ll be coming home with more than pay in your pocket.”
Aislinn blushed, stricken, and lowered her eyes. They finished their meal quietly, no one sure of their father’s mood. Ellen fell asleep, her head in Morgan’s lap, and then Nally hauled himself up, belched, and announced that the girls may have a turn at dancing while he went in search of a pint from another seafaring gentleman. Morgan watched them all go off in opposite directions, glad for a moment alone to sort out the day. He leaned back against the trunk of the tree, pulling Ellen along with him, resettling her head on his leg and smoothing the silky hair off her forehead while she slept.
“A quick step while your father’s not looking, then, Mister McDonagh?” teased a light, familiar voice.
His heart began to pound even before he opened his eyes into Grace’s smiling face. She moved out of the sun and came closer, pointing to the sleeping child in his lap.
“Can that be your Ellen? Arrah, what a tall thing she’s become!” Her voice was soft so as not to awaken the girl.
“Aye, and heavy, as well.” Morgan patted the ground. “Will you sit awhile, or are you … expected somewhere?”
Grace glanced over her shoulder. “Brain’s off buying his pigs, and then I suppose he’ll drink on it with the men.” She knelt beside him. “Did your sisters come, and your folks?”
“Where would the girls be but dancing, and Da trading sea stories for ale? Mam’s tired with feeding wee Erin, and Fiona’s a right terror, she is, so Barbara—our blessed commander—stayed home to care for the lot.” He realized he was rattling on and took a deep breath. “I’ve not seen an O’Malley all day.”
Grace smiled. “Only Ryan and Aghna came, to get a price for the pigs and two calves Da wants to sell. He wouldn’t come himself—you know how stubborn he is about giving up a day of work. I saw them holding hands near the dance square, still starry-eyed for one another.” She laughed. “Can you believe our Ryan actually smiles these days!”
“A good wife will do that for a man,” Morgan said, then added quickly, “I’d hoped to see Sean and have a word.”
“Aghna says he’s down with a bad cough again, and Gran has made him stay in bed near the fire with the mustard cure.”
“It’s the damp now that settles in where that shoulder crowds his chest.” He frowned. “I was hoping he’d not be so sick again this winter. I’ll go round to see him in a day or so,” he added, by way of comfort. “He’ll be happy to hear all the news of you.”
“I miss him so.” Grace picked at the grass. “I don’t see him near enough.”
“You’re a squire’s wife, now,” Morgan teased gently. “So many duties to fill your day—hair, dress, order the servants about …”
Grace laughed, despite herself. “It’s not quite like that,” she admonished. “Though I could wish for more useful work.” She blushed suddenly, then looked up at him. “I do have news. I’m to have a baby in the spring.”
Morgan was caught completely off guard, but recovered quickly. “Well, and isn’t that grand news,” he congratulated. “Won’t you have plenty to keep you busy now! I couldn’t be happier for you. And the Squire, as well.”
Grace looked down in shyness, her hand brushing her belly, and Morgan suddenly had a clear picture of her with a baby in her arms. It was so lovely that the tightness flowed from his heart and he was able to smile in earnest.
“And won’t you be a fine mother?” he said.
The tenderness in his voice raised her eyes to his and they sat a moment looking at one another. Grace had forgotten the way the freckles ran down and away under his eye like the mark of tears long dried; it brought upon her a queer sadness, a pain in her heart, and finally she had to look away, pretending to watch the dancing in the square.
“Do you not have a sweetheart among the fine ones out there?” she asked, to change the mood.
“Ah, many!” He laughed, glancing toward the quick-stepping girls. “But my favorite—and the most beautiful—is right beside me, as well you know.”
The color drained from Grace’s face and her eyes went wide, but she did not turn her head to look at him.
“Asleep here on my lap,” he added, instantly aware of his gaff. He glanced down at Ellen, who had begun to stir.
Grace laughed and shook her head to clear it of the impossible thought that had suddenly flown in. Her cheeks flushed again and she reached down to smooth Ellen’s skirt.
“She’s devoted to you, ’tis true. But what of the others, all those happy maids who are surely waiting for you to call?”
“Are you trying to marry me off, then, when I’ve already a family to support?” Morgan chided.
“’Tis your father’s family you support, not your own.”
Morgan shrugged, then sighed. “He’s off again today, you know. Drinking enough to convince himself he’s doing a manly duty by us all, going away to sea.” He narrowed his eyes. “And he’s put Aislinn to service at Cairn Manor.”
Grace drew back, surprised. “Truly? That doesn’t sound like your mam. I always thought she’d see the girls in a convent before she’d allow them to go into service. Especially for that bear O’Flaherty. He eats them alive, they say.”
“Mam doesn’t know yet.” Morgan looked out to where Aislinn was dancing freely, long hair swinging out behind her. “Da worked it out with young Gerald today as a way of paying the debt we owe.”
“Are you behind, then?” Her eyes darkened with concern.
“Da bet the ponies. ‘A sure thing’—until it fell and broke its leg.” He grimaced. “I’d already bought seed with the pig money, so we were short. O’Flaherty suggested the work, and it was all said and done before I could …” He shook his head. “We’d already had a right terrible row over him going off again, so there was nothing left for it.”
Grace felt for her purse. “I’ve not much in here, but I want you to have it. All of it. For the family.”
“You shame me, Missus Donnelly. I can pay my own way in the world, as you well know.” His voice was more sharp than he’d intended.
“Sure and I meant nothing by it,” Grace said abruptly, and to her great alarm felt her eyes fill with tears. She wiped at them fiercely. “Only that you are like my own brother and I want to help.”
Morgan shook his head, disgusted with himself at having upset her. “Ah-now, you mustn’t mind me, Grace. ’Tis the day that’s put me off my mood.” He was full of contrition, but unable to show it. “Thank you for the kind offer, you’ve a good heart. But we’ll get by as we always have, God willing.”
Grace nodded, and they sat in awkward silence, each one mortified by the exchange.
“I’ve been gone too long,” Grace said, standing and hurriedly tying on a beautiful blue bonnet that covered over her lovely hair and hid her face. “It was good to see you, Morgan. Give my love to your mam and Barbara.”
“Grace,” he called after her, but she did not turn back before fading into the crowd. “Damn my words,” he muttered to himself, and cursed the day for not giving up more of its luck.
By late afternoon, Nally had still not come back. The girls were tired and stood grumbling, while Morgan searched the top of the crowd for his father’s hat. His eye was caught by the figure of a man in sailor’s pants weaving a crooked path down the road, ragged and dirty upon closer inspection, and terribly drunk. The sailor’s eyes lit up when he spied Morgan and the four girls standing by the tree in the field, where Nally had said they would be.
“It’s from yer father, fine man that he is,” the man slurred, handing. Morgan a small brown paper packet. He sniffed and wiped at his eyes with the back of a trembling hand. “Gone to sea to save the life of your poor sainted mother, and her blessed babies, though it’s tearing his heart in two. Be brave,” he spoke gravely. “For he’ll come back to you soon enough, God willing, with gold and riches to ease your way of living.” He saluted them, then turned on his heel and stumbled away.
<
br /> Morgan fingered the paper, then slipped it into his pocket.
“Come away now,” he said softly to his sisters.
They left the bustle of the town behind, walking long through the twilight, the call of crickets and frogs rising to greet them from the bog, the dirt turning cold and damp beneath their feet. Now and then they shared a word, but otherwise walked quietly, each one with their heart in another place: Morgan stood in the garden he would grow, surrounded by rows of carefully nurtured vegetables; Aislinn worked hard in Cairn Manor, pretty in her new uniform and sleek from delicious leftovers, now and then flirting with the bold young squire; Kate was there, as well, sure that Aislinn would find a place for her and the two of them would escape the hard life and rags of the country; Maureen stood in a beautiful dress with flowers on her head next to Gavin McVey, the white-haired miller’s boy with sweating hands who was often her partner at dances; and Ellen hummed a lullaby and thought of the lovely babies at home waiting for her to play with them.
Cows lowed in the neighbor’s field and mice rustled in the grass along the fence as the weary walkers turned at last into their lane. They were cheered by the light that spilled out the cabin windows, and the smoke that rose from the chimney, the promise of a warm fire and buttermilk before bed. Mary came to the door, drying her hands on her apron, peering out into the darkness. Morgan halloed and waved his arm, and she came rushing out to greet them. She saw at once that Nally was not there, but said not a word, shepherding her children inside and listening to their tales. Aislinn had been ready to do battle, sure she would be dismissed without Nally’s support, but Mary’s quiet acceptance of the plan left her first elated, then confused, then teary as she realized this was her last night at home. Mary took her daughter’s hands and murmured gently about honoring the family and doing God’s will, and Aislinn listened as she never had before. Finally exhausted, she climbed into the loft, followed by each sister in turn. Barbara had long since gone to bed, tucked up with Fiona, and the others settled in around them.
“He’s gone away then, has he?” Mary asked, quietly accepting the paper packet Morgan handed her when they were alone.